A last whisper, last touch, as clear eyes close;
soft story dreams leading.
Later, the tingle below the skin wakes the morning and limbs
and then, in the sunrise, the words.
sleep
Ari in bed, eyes closed
Stroke; stroke, stroke. Wriggle of shoulders, wiggle of toes.
Small tight grin, head under the bedclothes.
Toes stretched out. Stroke stroke itch.
Sole and top of foot and now the ankle too. Feather stroke.
Toes flex and stretch. Itch, smile.
Up the calf, feather light, behind the knee. Moving up and slowly slowly up.
Pull bedclothes close to face to hide the closed eyes smiling.
Pretend to be asleep.
Ari opened her eyes wide when her boyfriend screamed.
She opened her eyes wide and saw him standing by the door.
Not lying in bed behind her.
Not touching her ankle, not stroking her thigh, not moving up, up.
She twisted, half sat, and saw some of the spiders.
Countdown
Steve the sheep couldn’t sleep. He’d tried counting people. Nothing.
One.
One.
Nothing.
One.
Still wide awake.
Steve the sheep.
An ex-lover, later, left me this
I experiment on you when you are sleeping. Gently I squeeze your earlobe. Your breath does not speed or falter. Rise. Fall.
Finger-soft I stroke the almost hair on the nape of your neck. Your shoulders twitch and settle. Relax now.
My hand rests on the curve of your stomach. Slowly I reach through your skin and up, behind your ribs. My fingers find your soul and, softly again, I fold over a silver corner. The edges blacken and stick. You will never know why you feel tarnished on days the sun shines.
The friends have left
The friends have left, the house is quiet and larger. Echoes of laughter fade. Now is the time to sit and sleep with a smile.
simonsalento 